Classics and the Western Canon discussion

Three weeks as a guest (taking 216 pages to tell) suddenly turn into three weeks as a bedridden patient, taking only a few pages to tell.

But Mann has given us plenty of warning of the expansion and contraction of time, hasn't he? Maybe it is, or soon will be, time to gather some of his thoughts on time together to try to make analytical sense of them.

Settembrini saves the day, or at least helps, bringing brilliant clarity to the bed chamber (what was that about?) and "really helping [HC] employ his time meaningfully." (There's time again.)

Is HC really ill? Do we know yet? Is Behrens merely manipulating a hypochondriac for profit? Or is he truly concerned to cure a sick man?

Everyman wrote: "Three weeks as a guest (taking 216 pages to tell) suddenly turn into three weeks as a bedridden patient, taking only a few pages to tell.

But Mann has given us plenty of warning of the expansion ..."

Everyman, I'm glad you said "what was that about" regarding Settembrini "bringing brilliant clarity to the bed chamber." I found this a bit confusing. I don't have the book with me at the moment, but if I recall correctly, Settembrini did not go to visit HC in his sick bed until a fairly late part of the three weeks. I felt they were establishing a friendship (if we could call it that), and I was expecting Settembrini to pay a visit to HC earlier in his 3-week bed rest.

As far as turning on the light to an extreme brightness in HC's room, was Settembrini trying to tell HC that he really was not so sick that he needed to be in bed in a darkened room (and possibly trying to tell HC that he IS a hypochondriac or trying to tell HC that he's not sick, he's simply being taken advantage of by Behrens.)

So turning on the light in HC's room was Settembrini's way of saying to HC "You need to see the light in this situation -- you're not really sick, or you're being taken advantage of by Behrens, etc."

Everyman, the above is also somewhat of an answer to the questions in your last paragraph in Message 1 of this thread. I personally don't think HC is ill. Earlier in the novel we're told that HC is a person who prefers a life of "relaxation" as opposed to exerting himself and working. So once at the sanatorium, he discovers a place where he doesn't have to do anything BUT relax, and it's a safe place away from all of the demands of the "real world."

In addition to HC wanting to be there (and possibly manifesting the fever for himself -- I believe this can be done), I also think that Behrens is a puppet (of sorts). There are the "business people" behind the sanatorium who we may never meet in this novel, but I feel they put pressure on Behrens to keep the "business" running with a minimum of a certain amount of patients at one time (whether or not these patients really need to be there).

I hadn't thought much about the "backers" of the hospital, but I too, even on second reading a few months back, continued to wonder about Behrens: concerned doctor or clever businessman. And Hans is of course the perfect "mark" for a clever businessman with his overly earnest character, though he always attributes earnestness to others, especially Settembrini and Joachim.

Barbara wrote: "I personally don't think HC is ill. Earlier in the novel we're told that HC is a person who prefers a life of "relaxation" as opposed to exerting himself and working. So once at the sanatorium, he discovers a place where he doesn't have to do anything BUT relax, and it's a safe place away from all of the demands of the "real world.""

This is perhaps foreshadowed by HC doing the careful calculation (right after he gets his second week's bill so before he is declared sick and having to stay) that having an income of 18 to 19 thousand francs per year, and the annual cost of the sanatorium being 12 thousand francs, he could live there forever. He pointed this out "just for the fun of it," but it presumably got his attention at the time.

Everyman wrote: "Barbara wrote: "I personally don't think HC is ill. Earlier in the novel we're told that HC is a person who prefers a life of "relaxation" as opposed to exerting himself and working. So once at the..."

"...a safe place away from all of the demands of the 'real world.'"

Is this an allegory for what was going on in the Wiemar Republic or for Europe before WWI or not an allegory for the wider world at all?

Lily wrote: "Is this an allegory for what was going on in the Wiemar Republic or for Europe before WWI or not an allegory for the wider world at all? "

The "retreat from the world" syndrome? So far, at least, the outside world seems to be seen as remote and unrelated to life at the sanatorium. It is a tidepool in the scheme of the world. Like the creatures in a tidepool, the inhabitants of the sanatorium seem to go about their days with no concern for anything outside their compact little world. Like the creatures in the tidepool, they seem to have little knowledge of the brewing storm that will sweep over them and destroy their quiet lives.

In this respect, perhaps this is an analogy of much of the population of Europe who just didn't seem to see what was on the horizon. In his Coursera course on the Modern World, professor Zelikow takes the view that most people in the years of the MM had no realization that war was on the horizon, and were taken aback when it broke.

At 4 Everyman wrote: "Barbara wrote: "This is perhaps foreshadowed by HC doing the careful calculation (right after he gets his second week's bill so before he is declared sick and having to stay)

Wasn't that a delightful scene?

I love that opening of Chapter 5: "And now we have a new phenomenon -- about which the narrator would do well to express his own amazement, if only to prevent his readers from being all too amazed on their own."

But on a more serious note, Mann in the 2nd paragraph of that chapter speaks of the monotony of repetition, "of an abiding now, of eternalness." And as the soup (which is really a full five course meal) is brought in yet again, "you don't (love the "you" there) know why or how, but you feel dizzy watching them bring in the soup. The tenses of verbs become confused, they blend and what is not revealed to you as the true tense of all existence is the "inelastic present," the tense in which they bring you soup for all eternity. But one can't speak of boredom, because boredom comes with the passing of time -- and that would be a paradox in relation to eternity."

I am struggling with this, with exactly what concept he is trying to convey. He has talked about the elasticity of time in the past, of time seeming to stretch or contract, but here suddenly we have not elastic but inelastic time, with what seems to me to be a perpetual present (an eternal now). But if there is an eternal now, there can be no life, can there?, since life requires motion (at the very least of the blood through the body) and motion requires time. Only in death can there be an eternal now, and indeed isn't that a fairly good description of death? But HC isn't dead, and isn't, as far as we know, anywhere near death. Unless one can think of his ensconcement in bed as a sort of living death? But I'm not sure that's what Mann means.

Anybody have any better insight on this passage?

We seem to have an idea here that disease can lie hidden in the body for some time, until something causes it to erupt. HC, for example, (in Eternal Soup) recalls his independent walk two weeks before; "he even expressed a rather definite conjecture that it had created a revolution in his body and caused his silent, latent illness to erupt."

I think this concept is fairly well accepted today, but I don't know whether it was part of accepted medical theory at the time. And is he talking about the fact that apparently he had in the past had some lung lesions (or something) that had healed, and is suggesting that they have re-emerged? Or is he meaning a different latent illness?

I have just reviewed these two chapters. I wonder if these early posts (all by sophisticated readers) may leave some of the rest of us behind and (no pun intended) in the dark. I'll ask indulgence for some prosaic questions and observations.

1. The beginning of chapter five is a nice example of how Mann wanders into and out of the story himself. He reassures us that he shares the "amazement" we will feel at the length of time he took tell the story of the first three weeks. Why does he do this? I should think a narrator would be delighted to amaze his readers without their realizing what he is doing.

2. The title of the chapter is "Eternal Soup and Sudden Clarity." I get the sudden clarity (metaphorically presented when Settembrini turns on the lights in Hans Castorp's room). But did I miss the "eternal soup?" And is it in some way related to the "midday soup" that is the deminimizing description of the lavish lunch brought to his room?

3. As Hans lays bed-bound he alternates between highs and lows. One state is described as the "wild laughter of triumph"; the other as a result of the "pulsing of his conscience." There may be some translation issues here. However, it seems to me that "triumph" and "conscience" are the key words. And I am not sure I know the referent for either of them.

4. Dr. K insists that "organic factors are always secondary [in illness]." Later, Settembrini argues that x-rays are often mistaken or misinterpreted. Is this a convergence of two, outwardly opposite, worldviews?

5. I liked the comparison of Hans Castorp, in his new status of "belonging", to a noviate nun. Indeed, the sanitarium does resemble a monastery with its routines and rules. And with its dependence on its inhabitants' faith in something outside themselves.

6. Behrens does two types of "portraits," one in oils and one via x-ray. Clearly, Mann wants us to think about the comparison. Does one come closer to versimilitude than the other? And, as Hans frets over the discovery that Clavdia is sitting for both kinds, which is more "intimate?"

None of the above speak to the overall tapestry Mann is creating. But for me they seem like interesting details worth noting and examination.

Zeke, I'll take you up on a couple of these.

1. Each time Mann does this, it seems as if he is winking at us, as if to say, "...but you and I know differently, don't we?" In a way, it seems to suggest--to me, at least--that none of these characters is meant to serve as the voice of wisdom/reason/the author's own worldview, but rather that we will find that position elsewhere, in the margins and asides of the text. It's too early to say whether that impression is going to prove seaworthy, but it's my thought at the moment.

2. I love that "Eternal Soup"! Very funny. A reminder that we are not to take any of this too seriously. In terms of that sense of eternally repeating one day after another, I was really struck by the fact that Settembrini is the only one who pays any attention--the only one who seems to notice--that HC was ever gone from the table. HC's tablemates are totally disinterested in his return "not so much out of indifference to this ordinary, sympathetic fellow [again, the emphasis on how we are supposed to view HC's character] or out of self-absorption and preoccupation with their own interesting bodies, but because they were oblivious to the intervening time." It even seems that way to HC himself. But not to Settembrini! He is somehow still connected to the "flatland," to time, to the world. He seems to be plugged into the world outside in a way the others are not.

6. I was shocked to find out that Behrens was painting Mme. Chauchat! This seemed outrageously inappropriate to me, and I have no idea what to make of it. I like what you say about the two types of "portraits," and I'd like to hear more of others' comments on this.

Zeke wrote: "2. The title of the chapter is "Eternal Soup and Sudden Clarity." I get the sudden clarity (metaphorically presented when Settembrini turns on the lights in Hans Castorp's room). But did I miss the "eternal soup?" And is it in some way related to the "midday soup" that is the deminimizing description of the lavish lunch brought to his room?
"

I tried to address this in post 8. Yes, the soup is the dinner (noon meal), a robust repast humorously referred to as soup. If post 8 doesn't address the eternal aspect, let me know.

Zeke wrote: "6. Behrens does two types of "portraits," one in oils and one via x-ray. Clearly, Mann wants us to think about the comparison."

I missed that comparison, but now that you mention it, it's obviously something to think more about. But since I haven't yet, I have no comment to add yet.

Kathy wrote: "6. I was shocked to find out that Behrens was painting Mme. Chauchat! This seemed outrageously inappropriate to me, and I have no idea what to make of it. "

Why inappropriate?

@ Everyman: Do you mean that this thread goes through (per Lowe-Porter's edition) "Sudden Enlightenment". (as L-P does not have "My God, I See It!" chapter) I assume tis so!
I have to say that that ever since Dr. Calagari was mentioned...I have a much darker view of the physicians in this book...alas, such excitement at finding the "talented" H.C. ill with TB (i.e. a "moist spot found") (but of course, glee was expressed likewise by the patients (except perhaps J) at this news). Also I am influenced by Mann's wife's mother's perception of sanatorium doctors. The alleged diagnosis of TB expanding the patient base, a medical hegemony if you will, expanding dollars and power to the "good doctors" and the cause of the sanatorium.

@Eman: I reread post 8 and caught the definition. So the "midday soup" is one constituent element (or, more accurately, five or six) of the "eternal" soup.

Another comment on the strange sense of time in this waiting room for death.

Zeke wrote: "...So the 'midday soup' is one constituent element...of the 'eternal' soup.

Another comment on the strange sense of time in this waiting room for death...."

Being off-hand and glib this morning: "The eternal has no life to it?"

(But, somehow, I recall that Mann himself has a sentence or passage with such an overtone about eternity -- or I encountered the idea somewhere else this week; I'm not being original.)

Everyman wrote: "Why inappropriate?"

It seems a gross overstepping of the doctor/patient relationship. Imagine if your doctor said, "I'd like you to come back tomorrow so I can paint a portrait of you"?

"Soup Everlasting"

Like a Kathy, Everyman, I appreciated the humor. Six courses!

An additional layer of meaning might be to comment on how, like soup--ever day--life at the sanatorium is so insubstantial. There's nothing in a broth-like soup--which is what I picture--that provides any nutrition...that that will provide for growth.

Page 190, HC is finishing his meal (his soup everlasting?) and he's thinking about what time Joachim will return. Maybe as late as half past two.

"...perhaps it would be nearer the truth to call it a quarter after"

but HC is not inclined towards the truth...too much effort? too hard to swallow? So HC will keep sipping the thin, non-truth gruel served up at the sanatorium?

"but these odd quarter-hours outside the round figures no not count, they are swallowed up unregarded"

because there is no substance in them???

Zeke wrote: "6. Behrens does two types of "portraits," one in oils and one via x-ray. Clearly, Mann wants us to think about the comparison. Does one come closer to versimilitude than the other? And, as Hans frets over the discovery that Clavdia is sitting for both kinds, which is more "intimate?"
"

A comment on the "intimacy" with which Mann describes the x-ray procedure in "My God, I see it". Mann seems to be very fond of dichotomies, and here he shows the inside and the outside of the human body, the biological and the sensual. "I can see your heart" is at once both incredibly intimate and coldly scientific, and curiously HC associates this symbol of love, the heart, with death.

And then there is the x-ray procedure itself, which is crazy. "Hug it," Behrens tells HC. "Hug the panel. Imagine it's something else if you like. And press your chest up tight, as if it meant sweet bliss..."

Then after the "thunderstorm" of elecricity bursts, "He dismounted, confused and dazed by what had happened to him, althought he had not felt anything at all during the penetration."

Mann is having great fun here, obviously, but it points out in visceral terms how HC relates sexuality and death. Krokowski has already explained that love is a symptom of illness, and this scene serves as a concrete example. Things are topsy turvy on the mountain. Love is a symptom of illness rather than health, and sexuality is destructive rather than creative.

Anyone getting the feeling that this is not a good place to be?

Thomas wrote: ".
Anyone getting the feeling that this is not a good place to be? ."

The undercurrents in this place are truly something.

Agree with you, too, about the dichotomies. Settembrini appears as a possible dichotomy.

May mean nothing...but the wording/the images are intriguing.

Settembrini introduced in a chapter titled "Satana."
Someone commented on how much he was described as resembling the devil who appeared to Ivan in The Brothers Karamazov--down even to the checkered pants.
And I do keep wondering if he is to be a bad influence.

But, on the other hand, maybe he's to be a good influence. The wording, as someone noted, makes us somehow feel there is some sort monastic feel to the place---despite all the sex going on.

"confess" other words, too, I forget, with religious connotations.

Here in "Soup Everlasting" we have "The evening and the morning made the third day" (188). [Gen 1:13). I don't know if it means anything, but it certainly evokes thoughts of the Bible.

And then that scene in which Settembrini appears.
"There was a knock on his door...'Come in.'...and Ludovico Steembrini appeared--and lo, on the instant the room was flooded with light" (192). Settembrini turned the light on before he entered the room, "while still on the threshold."

That "lo" --- and it's not the first --- sounds Biblical to me. As Barbara explained in Post 2, Settembrini is symbolically turning on the light so that HC can better see his true situation.

But the wording... I thought of Jesus: "I stand at the door and knock"

http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?...

So then I'm back to thinking that Settembrini will help Hans Castorp.

Ludovico Settembrini (p192).

This is, I think, the first instance in which we are given Settembrini's first name.

It is the Italian version of Luther.

Is that significant?

Sigh. HC choosing not to hear the point of what Settembrini says. S tells of the woman patient (p195) whose symptoms closely match those of HC. She gets worse and worse. Almost dies under the treatment of Behrens.

And HC responds "Oh, that's good, that's very good! You do tell stories capitally..."

Thomas wrote: "Anyone getting the feeling that this is not a good place to be? "

Maybe there are some advantages of living there if you are not the patient but the doctor? ;-)

Everyman wrote @6: "In his Course on the Modern World, professor Zelikow takes the view that most people in the years of the MM had no realization that war was on the horizon, and were taken aback when it broke."

I must say Zelikow's statement surprises me. But who are we talking about? Those who read newspapers, those who did not?

There were diplomatic incidents, local wars, an arms race - what more do you want? Some decision makers supported war, because they felt it was inevitable anyway. And recently I read how the espionage thriller developed in the years before WW1, strongly influenced by the international tensions (nice example: The Riddle of the Sands).

But of course many people led isolated lives in secluded villages. The boys called up for military service might have no idea what it was all about. And there are always spots like the MM, with elite groups leading otherworldly lives.

Adelle wrote: "An additional layer of meaning might be to comment on how, like soup--ever day--life at the sanatorium is so insubstantial. There's nothing in a broth-like soup--which is what I picture--that provides any nutrition...that that will provide for growth.
"

Except that the "soup" is actually "the six-course Berghof dinner in all its splendor, with nothing missing--a hearty meal six days a week..." Reminds me of what Italian-Americans call "sauce" when what they really mean is a massive, rich Sunday dinner. This makes me think that, rather than a thin, gruel-like existence, what the patients are being served is something so rich it dulls the appetite for anything else, prevents them from thinking of leaving... Something like what Settembrini claims music to do?

Kathy wrote: "Everyman wrote: "Why inappropriate?"

It seems a gross overstepping of the doctor/patient relationship. Imagine if your doctor said, "I'd like you to come back tomorrow so I can paint a portrait of you?"

I see where you're coming from, and agree that that would seem strange in our society.

But these people are in a residential community where the interaction between doctors and patients is much more than just seeing a doctor, as I do, every few months at most. Here the one (or both) of the doctors stops in every day, eats lunch with them, attends the social evenings, and the like. I guess I didn't see it as that strange that the doctor, being a painter in his spare time, would ask to paint one of the patients. (Though maybe there would be some pressure not to say no.)

But I agree that if it isn't actually inappropriate, there is the opportunity for it to be so.

Thomas wrote: "Zeke wrote: "6. Behrens does two types of "portraits," one in oils and one via x-ray. Clearly, Mann wants us to think about the comparison. Does one come closer to versimilitude than the other? And..."

I love your analysis. And yes, I also found Behrens saying " "Hug it," Behrens tells HC. "Hug the panel. Imagine it's something else if you like. And press your chest up tight, as if it meant sweet bliss..." to be more than a bit weird.

HC retreats into a world without time, without duties. Lying in bed for three weeks with a cold(!), he reflect on the cruelty of life in the plain.

But Settembrini warns him, he will be lost to life: 'Do you know, Engineer, what I mean by being lost to life? I, I know it, I see it here every day. Six months at most after they get here, these young people—and they are mostly young who come—have lost every idea they had, except flirtation and temperature. And if they remain a year, they will have lost the power of grasping any other; they will find any other ‘cruel’—or, more precisely, ignorant and inadequate'.

No doubt he is talking about life 'dedicated' to art. The MM is also the Parnassus, and the developing dispute between S and HC is a reflection of the artistic disputes (symbolism vs realism) going on in the pre-war years. This is also about art that was lost for life.

'It must be said that Hans Castorp’s sentiments toward the patient of the “good” Russian table had made distinct progress during his retirement. The sympathy he entertained in his mind and his simple heart for this medium-sized person with the gliding gait and the “Kirghiz” eyes, as good as amounted to being “in love”—we shall let the word stand, although in strictness it is a conception of “down below,” a word of the plains, capable of giving rise to a misconception: namely, that the tender ditty beginning “One word from thy sweet lips” was to some extent applicable to his state.'

Why is the song not applicable on the MM? The development of HV's infatuation seems at least normal enough. The same old story.

Wendel wrote: "HC retreats into a world without time, without duties. Lying in bed for three weeks with a cold(!), he reflect on the cruelty of life in the plain.

But Settembrini warns him, he will be lost to
Artistic disputes..."

I thought that passage was maybe a core thought in the book. The art info, interesting addition.

At 33 Wendel wrote: "Why is the song not applicable on the MM? The development of HV's infatuation seems at least normal enough. The same old story.

"

I think it seems that way on the surface. But I think we have to be like HC looking into J. We have to see his heart in order to discover the truth.

Mann does, it seems try to explain this without having to actually explain it.

No spoilers. Long. (view spoiler)[

Just prior to the passage you quoted (p140), Mann or the narrator tells us that as readers we probably DO see HC as rejoicing when he thinks of another meeting "with the afflicted fair one."

(And...what a ... quirky... way to think of the one that interests one. Somehow, the affliction/the disease itself, is one of the aspects of Madame Chauchat that interests him.)

But check out that very next sentence:

"But we(the author and narrator---who know a thing or two more than we the readers)...we suggest that a young man with a well-regulated conscience and sense of fitness [moral fitness?][societal fitness?] could not, whatever else he did, simply "rejoice in" Frau Chauchat's proximity.

Therefore, either (1) Hans Castorp did not rejoice,
or, (2) Hans Castorp was not a young man with a well-regulated conscience and sense of fitness.

Gotta be one or the other.

Love that next bit: "It is a small detail, yet worthy of mention..." Ah, yes. The devil is in the details.

HC hums that first couplet:

"One word from they sweet lips
Can strangely thrill me."

And this would seem to be true.
HC hears her voice, so strangely similar to that of Hibbe, and he is thrilled.

But breaks off, disdainfully shrugging his shoulders, when it comes time for the second couplet to be sung:

"Within my heart it slips
And raptures fill me--"

HC thinks to himself it's a stupid sentimental line, "It was the sort of thing to satisfy a young man who had 'given his heart," as we say, given it wholly, legitimately

I think this suggests that HC breaks off and doesn't sing that second couplet because he knows that he has NOT given his heart, he is NOT sentimental about Madame Chauchat as a person.

He doesn't care about HER.

Ooops. Sorry, I see your quote was from a different page. (205).

I think a lot can be read into that passage, too.

It must be said that HC's sentiments ... had made distinct progress during his retirement

Very carefully worded. It doesn't say that he became more sentimental towards MC. Simply that ... whatever his sentiments had been... those sentiments have increased.

The sympathy he entertained in his mind...as good as amounted to being "in love'

Carefully worded. It doesn't say that HC was in love. In the mind of HC, he is saying to himself that whatever he feels it's "as good as" being in love. AND he actually uses the quotation marks in his mind: "in love" because he means that he's not really in love.

--[significant dash}--we shall let the word stand,

The author and narrator don't actually agree with the use of that word.

although in strictness it is a conception of "down below," a word of the plains...

Here, I think Mann is using both usages: (1) that love at the sanatorium [when one is looking at death] is different from love on the plains {where two people fall in love and want to build a life together), and (2) that love "down below" is meant to mean love "down below", ie, strictly physical...the feelings are all from ... "down below"

I suspect that's why HC colored when Settembrini turned on the light. HC had her picture in his mind...but it was a picture that made him blush. All the thoughts he had of MC were physical: her eyes, her cheekbones, etc.

And his conscience is in "turmoil" over these thoughts (206). "He felt both terror and dread"...he put one hand "like a shield before his eyes, whispering "Oh, my God!"

But I have yet to see anything that suggests that he loves or even cares about MC as a person.

(hide spoiler)]

Adelle wrote: "At 33 Wendel wrote: "Why is the song not applicable on the MM?..."

Thanks Adelle, I agree with most of that. Actually I was wondering as much about the song as about HC. It probably comes down to genes-looking-for-a-good-deal on the one hand and blind (egocentric) passion on the other.

It was a good question! And I hadn't given it much thought until you asked. Lol, so it was good for me.

Regarding HC and Settembrini...that's developing into an interesting relationship. Oh my gosh, though, I still go back and forth on S.

Seems to me that S , at least at this point in the book, is largely expressing TM's (the author's) view regarding life and death. Stating that part of life is indeed death and also providing the cynicism that TM likely harbors as to the sanatorium and the doctors. S provides a bit of realism /illiumination so to speak on certain points to HC. J also provides some realism as to the disease itself, evidencing if not by words express but otherwise, his understanding of its grimmer aspects. This is in stark contrast to other clientele at the sanatorium wherein it is deemed an upper caste achievement of sorts to have a worse case of TB and who shudder at the perceived cruelity of the Flatlands.

Sue wrote: "Seems to me that S , at least at this point in the book, is largely expressing TM's (the author's) view regarding life and death. Stating that part of life is indeed death and also providing the c..."

In the light of an all-too simple optimism Settembrini's view on death as part of life could be too simple, too. How much consolation can somebody draw from this thought? Maybe not too much if death approaches. Settembrini is not wrong, but maybe it's too easy?

@ Thorwald: Agreed. That is put too simply. While S does not think it right to empower death by separating it from life, S believes in service to life.
Also, I think that while TM may have agreed with S's cynical stance as to the sanitorium, perhaps much else of S's opinions may have rattled TM's 19th century sensibilities (at least initially but of which likely evolved via intense thought during the war).
Alas death looms over the sanatorium. The clients seemingly enoble the disease process as perhaps a coping mechanism.
TM wrote in a letter of 1915 to Paul Amenn (an Austrian literary critic):
"Before the war I had begun a longish story....with pedagogical and political overtones, in which a young man comes up against the most seductive of powers, death, and runs the gauntlet, in a comic-gruesome manner, of the intellectual polarities of Humanism and Romanticism, progress and reaction, health and disease; but not so much that he may be forced to decide, as for the sake of orientation and general enlightenment. The spirit of the whole is humoristically nihilistic, and the bias leans forward toward the side of sympathy with death."

MG! Now I see it! ha..I just finished reading about the x-rays and goodness...if some of the clients get an x-ray every week ...and the level of radiation they are likely exposed to there...goodness, that is a lot of exposure to radiation. It does sound all so primitive...first with the still shots with explosives, blue sparks, long lightnings and a red light, etc....and then not only that..they do some other live viewage where HC could see J's beating heart and then later his own hand...just like the days when people had x-rays for their feet willy nilly when buying shoes! Oh, dear! Just had to comment on that.

Sue wrote: "MG! Now I see it! ha..I just finished reading about the x-rays and goodness...if some of the clients get an x-ray every week ...and the level of radiation they are likely exposed to there...goodnes..."

Yes, it was a very different world. The magic of modern (for then!) medicine was not yet balanced by adequate studies of its efficacy or safety.

Sue wrote: "MG! Now I see it! ha..I just finished reading about the x-rays and goodness...if some of the clients get an x-ray every week ...and the level of radiation they are likely exposed to there...goodnes..."

If they don't die of TB, they'll die of radiation exposure!

Kathy: If they don't die of TB, they'll die of radiation exposure!

Or from overeating.

Ha!

Yes, the radiated horizontal ones surely eat far more than I would ever dare on a daily basis. Alas, no mention of apparent portliness is mentioned by TM! Perhaps the wasting from TB attends to fat as well?